Swallowed Light
by Geraldine Hake
Summary: Manga spoilers. Just as his hands had encircled her brother's neck, her weapon was aimed for his weakness. San/Sess, chapter based. Two-shot.
1. Vanished Arrow

**Status:** Part 1/2  
**Time taken:** Half an hour.  
**Background: **Have you ever gotten an itch to put knuckles to keys and crank out a story? That's what happened here. This is also a tribute to all Sess/San fans that have been waiting for some real (based) interaction.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Inuyasha and am not responsible for the translations of the manga quotes used.

(Warning manga spoilers for Chapters 530-543.)

* * *

**Swallowed Light** -Geraldine Hake

* * *

Like slow fire, a small piece of Sango's black and white heart burned obsidian.

_Sesshoumaru, if you want to rip me apart—go ahead._

It wasn't as if, as if her soul weren't already shattering against her skin, grating like little pieces of broken glass against the frail insides of her stomach. Her head reeled; she would have staggered, had Kirara's stable bulk not been beneath to steady her.

Once—she had spoken to him. She had been too intent on the momentary crisis to notice how glittery his eyes (_his skin, his hair, his claws_) were, but now, seeing only murky shapes in the damp sweat of Naraku's hollow body, she could clearly etch out every detail of his gleaming silhouette.

And it ached with power, and anger.

_Anu-ue was being fooled by an illusion!_

Yes, yes, an illusion; an illusion of _such_ magnificence. An illusion of Naraku disemboweled, split by the awesome weight of her Hiraikotsu. At all costs, Naraku should die. Sango ached with that knowledge, every night, and every day. But she had not the capacity in her bent spirit to imagine a universe where she and Naraku coexisted in harmony.

Kagome's eager lips had spilled hopeful fairy-tales about surviving the final battle, and terribly, Sango couldn't believe that Kagome wouldn't make it out alive—but for herself, she doubted that fortune. She was glad for the younger girl, her friend, because she knew what would happen inevitably.

But how had it come to this?

The blood—the almost blood—of a little child on her hands, _Kohaku's friend_. How could she, the last of the pure line of _demon_ slayers, heft her weapon at an innocent child? But she had.

_I have no intention of making excuses, or begging for my life!_

The dark awareness under his narrow eyes told her of what would come next. Sango had aimed to kill a child that was somehow, inexplicitly close to the demon Lord; as close as Kohaku lay to her heart, perhaps.

Sango's eyes, filming with tears of rage and revulsion, cast away from her kid brother's face. He was crying too.

She saw the Hiraikotsu wedged deeply into Naraku's inner wall of flesh, and shuddered. No man had ever thrown her weapon with the intent to kill. Few could lay a hand on it, or raise it above their shoulder (_she remembered her monk and tasted misery on her tongue_) and fewer felt its length without splitting their flesh on its edge.

_However…_

Well recognized with the impalpable fury of one who has faced a kin-slayer, Sango didn't harbor the misapprehension that Sesshoumaru would gladly make peace with her, for her foolishness.

Cold stabbed down though her bones, sharpening every knob in her spine; making her sit erect, motionless, for fear her burden would break her back open. _However…_His brow descended, like an axe swinging down to pass judgment.

Sango gasped—

_Until Naraku is defeated…and the curse of Houshi-sama's Kazaana is broken…I'd like you to wait._

The darkness of the place pressed her from all angles, pushing her dark bangs up against her forehead. They stuck to the sheen of sweat there, as her eyes dug mercilessly into Sesshoumaru's. '_Let him give me time,'_ she thought, as the closely-knit layers of Sango's shell wrinkled, and then stretched unbearably thin.

Kirara flexed under her legs, and Sango noticed, but didn't really notice, that her finger nails were carving into the flesh beneath her.

Houshi-sama, the foolish, stupid man would kill himself before she could leave this world—and he wasn't supposed to die!

'_I aimed for a child.'_

Sesshoumaru's eyes widened, finally, in a bewildering sort of surprise. Hadn't he known that she did it all for the monk, that no action inside this cage was her own, it was for someone else's greater good?

The whisper of her brother's voice called out to her belatedly. He had tried to save her, tried to ease the revenge that Sesshoumaru had rightfully, to some other source. Sweet child.

Let me live a little longer, Sango asked silently. If Sesshoumaru could hear the murmur, he did not gesture it so. Her thoughts, her will, reached out to him ever so gently, carefully touching the smooth pale line of his cheek, tracing the flawless navy moon on his forehead, the fine strands of silvery hair.

'_Give me, give this chance, one more go. It is all I ever need.'_

She waited.

* * *

A/N: It was my intention to mirror this scene in the manga with a more in-depth look at Sango's psyche, but since there was a suspension in the plot, I'll be updating with the second part next week.

Quotes (spaced in the center of the page) come from Chapter 543, title was a tip of the hat to an earlier Inuyasha chapter. The Broken Console is a great resource for keeping up with Inuyasha. (I can't stand by while the anime drags its heels!) I reccomend it to all fans of the series. Site link is: adinuyasha (dot) thebrokenconsole (dot) com (slash) TOC (dot) html.

I'm looking for a beta for my stories; both this, and my older pieces were published without a beta, and I'd like to re-evalute them with some help. If you're interested in betareading for one, two, or all of my stories, send me a message. (I'll return the favor, if you're interested.) Thanks for reading!


	2. Core

**Status:** Part 2/2  
**Time taken:** Too long. Thank Winter and frozen phone lines.  
**Thanks: **To my reviewers, whose comments were _so_ appreciated. Every line written is in humble tribute to the mercy of Mrs. Takahashi, who finally gave in to our mental pleading. (After approximately 542 chapters of San/Sess separation.) Thanks again, you know who you are.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Inuyasha and am not responsible for the translations of the manga quotes used. The Sweeney Todd soundtrack that was my Muse's bread and butter play-list—is also not mine.

(Warning manga spoilers for Chapters 530-544.)

* * *

**Swallowed Light** -Geraldine Hake

* * *

Inu-Taisho had seen kingdoms rise. His son, Sesshoumaru, had watched cities burn to the ground and children grow into hardened, unwise adults. Together they had observed the creation of civilizations and the division of races; they had outlived the births and deaths of hundreds of thousands of human beings. Taiyoukai Sesshoumaru had a _thorough_ grasp of the human character.

Before him, one was begging for her life.

Why should she be spared? She had laid her arms against a ward of his keeping—how dare she plead for mercy? Humans were plentiful and ugly. They came in hordes from their mother's wombs, pulsing with life and energy, eager for glory and wealth and quick to their graves in the search for both. Sesshoumaru did not value creatures that were expendable. He especially did not tolerate their defiance—not in the face of him, of a demon High-Lord who _was_ in possession of his reality.

Brooding, calculating eyes traveled to the bone weapon—Hiraikotsu—that had firstly affronted him. It was sunk deeply into the pulsating fabric of Naraku's hot body. Shouki oozed down its length; spilled harmlessly into a black gorge of split skin and sinew.

Burying his disgust, grateful for his perch in the uncontaminated air of the dank space, he lowered his gaze to the woman.

With his rooted knowledge of humanity, Sesshoumaru saw that there was a distinction between his slayer and the infinite others that came before him; the dilemma that quietly reasoned for him to consider her plea. It was not her noble profession—no, he had seen many valiant men subside to eager madness when their own interests were threatened. It was not her womanhood, or that she was a member of his half-brother's troupe, or that, ultimately, her cause was like to his.

The difference was the sure earnestness with which she imparted her guilt and willingness to die. (He could smell no blood on her. She was not wounded.)

Sesshoumaru bristled as he felt her clearer eyes sink into him; like a draft of hot air scorching the insides of his eyes. The sudden exchange was intense and deeply resonating—he did not want it at all, not with a human. Mentally he recoiled from the heat that she radiated, sensing her strange desire that there be words between them. _Houshi-sama, she had said. _What state was the monk in that his lover lost her good judgment?

In the thick silence, Sesshoumaru caught the quickness of the slayer boy's heart. His youthful eyes were fixed on his sister; that would not do, no, not while he held Rin. Rin, who had been the _target_ of the woman's skillfully trained eye.

Kohaku was all-forgiving of his sister—whatever relation he had to Rin was surpassed by the devout love he retained for his elder sister. Sesshoumaru had heard the boy-man weep in his sleep, oftentimes with the name of this woman on his lips. Though Kohaku had been controlled through his slaughter by the total will of another, Sango (yes, he knew her name, he knew the power of a true name) was entitled to her own will.

The two were not one and the same, although the boy seemed to believe it was his duty to trust and forgive his sister without limit.

_Light_…

From behind, an astonishing focus of light filtered suddenly from a pocket in the greasy wall.

'_In the direction of that light is…Naraku's real body!'_

Without a word or glance backwards, Sesshoumaru turned towards it in pursuit; the monstrosity that was Naraku needed sooner destruction than the broken slayer and her dangerous heart. His wards would be safe enough behind, with the woman there. She was adequately powerful; enough to guard the children—and she wouldn't finish the job that she'd started, not after she'd seen the shallow trick that had been played on her.

But Kohaku's voice swept the space behind them. He was urging the slayer and her beast on, and she was assenting. For the monk? It seemed to be her one inspiration.

Curious. This kill that was his would surely be taken down by her own foolish pride and attachment before he could lay his steel across her shoulders. Another Inuyasha, he thought. His quarry had a surprising lack of self-preservation.

A baby's whimper gave him pause as he started down the tunnel, following the dazzling light. Rin. Kohaku made excited chatter, but Sesshoumaru only caught—

_You're safe now._

She sang her master's name out like he was the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen. He felt the accustomed twinge of discomfort, and didn't turn his face to see her sitting up against Kohaku and blinking a little blearily. She was not discomforted, nor frightened, and her complex young mind only appeared pleasantly bewildered.

The over-heated pounding of the slayer's heart lessened. Sesshoumaru could feel its erratic inhalations as if there were nothing but skin between them. Before he could make remark, a spitting noise like oil on a red-hot pan struck his heightened hearing. Sesshoumaru glanced back quietly.

_What—shouki!_

A part of the wall had burst open and emitted a stream of wet black gas. It veered in a lazy ark towards the mounted Kohaku and Rin. The boy, his mouth hanging wide from a shout, pinched his lips shut and looked to motion Ah-Un forward.

But golden eyes observed the demon cat as it sidled up to the dragon, and the rider that leaned across the dangerous gap, unbuckling her poison mask with bloodless, shaky fingers.

_Ane-ue!_

Sango pressed the mask against the pottery pale skin of Rin's nose and mouth. Sesshoumaru realized he had stiffened, and gradually relaxed the tension in his locked jaw. Her eyes matched the wide gaze of the girl, weary, but collected.

_Rin…I'm so sorry._

Humanity had a certain flavor—it was ironic and bitter, sweet on contact, fleshy and hot, salty in its core. It had variety, but the shells that wore its stinking perfume were as simple and conformist as a school of grotesquely decorated fish. Demons understood the ways of those schools, in the way that a hunter knows the patterns of its prey. Demons stalked and destroyed humans with as little morality as any hunter. It was inconsequential. There would _always_ be another human.

The flavors rarely stirred in an individual.

_Ane-ue! Without your gas mask, you'll…_

Beast and rider sprinted past Sesshoumaru's right. He felt the tug of their wind on his fur; he watched impassively, cautious, and yet curious; determined, but patient.

_I'm going on ahead!_

What would this woman do with herself, he wondered. No, not woman: weapon.

This soulful weapon.

This girl that would sacrifice her body and integrity for war.

How long had she trained for the day she might kill an innocent? How many nights had she laid awake imagining the terror she could produce? Since the day that she decided she might be able to murder the last of her family, her puppet-brother?

More importantly, would he take her offer? Did he want to?

The final battle was yet undecided.

'_Risking her life…huh.'_

She wore the flavors of Humanity deep within her core.


End file.
